Ain't Nothin' But This For Me
by EnochianPizzaGirl
Summary: After a hunt, Sam argues with Dean about him 'mindlessly' following John's orders, and his brother's waisted potential. Weechesters, takes place when Dean is eighteen, and Sam is fourteen. At a new school in Iowa, he meets a girl named Charlie, who sees the same potential Sam sees in his brother.
1. The Argument

**Hello lovelies. Another Weechester fic. Takes place when Dean's eighteen and Sam is fourteen. It's more angsty than my last one, I hope you like it. Unfortunately, none of the characters are mine.**

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They didn't return until the early hours of the morning. Dean had been out on a routine hunt with John for most of the night, but came back bleeding, nonetheless. Three long claw marks, like trenches over his bicep. As soon as Sam saw his brother's stained shirt, he came running over, pouncing on Dean before he was even through the door.

"What the hell happened?" he exclaimed.

"Just a minor mishap, Sammy. S'okay."

"What, you use him as bate again?" Sam turned to face his father, with accusing eyes.

"He volunteered, he wasn't supposed to get hurt."

"It's not even that bad, honest," Dean chipped in, trying to ease the tension.

"Oh, well I guess it's fine then!"

"Listen, Sam," he began, harshly, "I've has just about enough of your attitude over the last few weeks, don't start with me, today. That's an order, I will not stand for insubordination."

"Insubordination? We're kids!"

"I give the orders, you listen! He wasn't supposed to get hurt, but it comes with the job! Stop with the questions. I'm gonna need to get rid of the body and handle finish up with the Feds, I'll be back by 0500 tomorrow, I want you packed and ready to go by then. Are we clear?"

Sam stared him down silently.

"I said, are we clear?" He was becoming increasingly impatient.

"Yes, sir," Sam finally answered, albeit reluctantly.

"And Dean," he turned to his eldest, "stand up straight, you look like a slob." Dean straightened himself up to attention. Satisfied, John nodded, before walking out on his sons.

With John gone, Sam turned to Dean - who was still standing at attention - looking to get at least one family member on his side. "You could have been killed! Why can't you see that what he's doing is wrong." His arms flew up in exasperation.

At ease, Dean sat down and waited for Sam to thread a needle, "He's trying to do what's right. Lives depend on us."

"Just listen to me for God's sake, you mindlessly following his orders isn't right!"  
The elder Winchester ignored his brother, and set about removing his over shirt to reveal the wound. "I don't understand why you're so willing to do what he tells you! No questions, nothing. It's pathetic! Why are you so damn loyal to him? You're like a toy soldier. He can wind you up and watch you go! You're just an obedient little attack dog, mindless and -"

"Cut it out, Sammy."

"Why, too hard for you do hear? You're so stupid, sometimes," he muttered, pushing the needle through his brother's torn skin for a third time, gradually drawing the two sides back together.

"Go to bed, I can finish this up," Dean took the needle from Sam's hand a little too harshly, wincing as the thread tugged him.

Sam was frustrated. Dean just brushes off every insult he throws at him, because he's conditioned that way. Their dad's fucked him up just enough so that he'll take everything to heart, but barely even show it, if he shows it at all. He looks almost robotic. Efficiently repairing himself. He should shout back and defend himself, be angry that he got hurt, but he just wouldn't.

They sat in a brief silence, before Sam thought of something to add. "Why aren't you yelling back at me? You know you're not stupid! Stick up for yourself! You're a genius, and you're strong, and you've never been given the chance to show it..."

"I don't have time, Sam. English, Maths, Science, that shit's not important, being able to load a gun and knowing how to pack a salt round, that keeps you and me alive. You go to school, I ditch and fight crap that shouldn't exist, and that's how it works. If me being a 'mindless' soldier keeps you alive, then that's what I'm gonna be. I've not got time to sit and dream about some shitty college future, or to listen to some broad explain to me why the Earth's round, so quit yappin'. There ain't nothin' but this life for me. Now I've told you once, and I'll tell you again, go to bed. This conversation's over." He tied off the thread and cut it, splashed some of John's booze over the wound, and bandaged it.

Sam didn't know what to say, he'd never got a reaction like that out of Dean before. Lord knows, he'd tried often enough to get his brother to stick up for himself, but he'd never expected this. Unsure of what to say next, he turned towards the bathroom door, picked his pyjamas up as he walked past them, and got ready for bed. When he emerged from the bathroom, Dean was standing outside in the cold, leaving the dingy motel room to his younger brother. No doubt he wanted to go for a walk and clear his head, but dad would never let him leave his baby brother alone and unprotected in some shady motel, especially not after what happened last time.

With one last glance at Dean through the window, Sam crawled between the thin, scratchy sheets on his bed and settled down as best he could. He was restless and continued to fidget until he heard the click of the front door, at which point he rolled over and faced the other the wall, pretending to be asleep. The sound of Dean's footsteps moved away from the now bolted door and over to his bed, mere inches away from Sam, who listened intently from his own.

Dean knew Sam was awake, but he wasn't in the mood to call him out. He was perfectly okay with leaving his younger brother to his thoughts, he didn't feel the need to argue anymore, after all, Sam never said anything that hadn't already crosses his mind.

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**Another short one. I hope you liked it. As with my last fic (Reese's Pieces), I wanted to show Sam's caring side towards Dean, and that they look after each other. Constructive criticism is welcomed, if you spot any errors, don't hesitate to let me know. Positive comments are also welcomed, if you have them. **

**I hope you have/are having a good day.**


	2. Iowa

**Happy New Year! This chapter sets up the next chapter. This is kind of an AU, but only in the sense that Dean met Charlie in a school he went to as a teenager, nothing else is majorly different. Hope you like it.**

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Neither of the brothers slept well that night. Dean lay in a shallow slumber, waking at the slightest sound, ready and waiting to attack anything lurking in the dark. Sam, meanwhile, did not get to sleep for some time, thoughts running through his head at a mile a minute. Did he hurt Dean with what he said? Was he too harsh? Eventually, though, he too fell into the same shallow sleep.

As ordered, the boys were ready to go by 5:00am. Dean was up before Sam and had everything packed and in ready to go, before John was back. He was late, not returning until 7:00am, Dean has let his younger brother sleep until then, he was used to the four hour sleeping patterns, but Sam sure as hell wasn't. When their father returned, everything moved quickly. The car was loaded and they were on the road within ten minutes of his arrival. That was it. New town, new motel, and a new school.

It was an eight hour drive to Iowa, plus time stuck in rush hour traffic. During that time, John took the opportunity to fill Dean in on the case; eight people dead, large cracks in the chest cavities, hearts missing.

"Lamia?" Dean suggested.

"Most likely," John confirmed.

The remainder of the drive continueD, and for the most part, the boys slept while John was driving. Sometimes they listened to music, and the in the remaining time, Dean lay his head on the glass and watched the world go by, counting down the miles to Iowa. By 4:00pm, they'd checked in to yet another dingy motel.

"Two beds, a tiny couch, and a shitty tv. Home sweet home," muttered Sam, stepping inside and throwing his bag down. He hated being on the road, and Dean knew it. The problem was it was something he couldn't fix.

Sam would start school tomorrow, and Dean, the day after. John needed him around to help gather information about the lamia terrorising a small town, about twenty minutes away.

When Dean finally did start at the school, he found himself in a room full of kids around a year or two younger than himself. One of the cons of not starting school until you're six. It wasn't all bad, at least the chicks were hot. He was introduced to his class, and sent to sit at the spare desk at the back, next to a red head, who looked to have skipped a grade.

"Hey, I'm Charlie," she greeted.

"Dean," he said, returning her smile.

Over the course of the lesson, the two barely listened to what the teacher was rambling on about. They spent the hour talking, it hadn't taken long for Dean to decide that he like this girl, she was easy to talk to, sassy as hell, and they seemed to click. She offered to eat with him at lunch, and he obliged, but not until he had checked on Sam. That kid managed to get himself into trouble more often than not.

After losing his timetable twice, and finding it again, Dean found that he had another class with Charlie. Granted it was English, which in his opinion, sucked, but he decided it wasn't terrible, given that there was at least one decent person in the class with him.

When the bell sounded, they walked to class and sat together. On the way, Charlie filled him in on the book they'd been studying.

"So basically, he's super jealous about her husband, Tom, and spends most of his time staring at this green light across the water. Borderline stalker, if you ask me," she went on and on, giving him details on every chapter she could remember.

"Huh, a green light. Green, like jealous green. It's like he sees green when he looks at the life whatshername built without him, or something," he paused, "I dunno." What was he talking about? Maybe he should just shut up, leave all the book crap to Sam.

"Dude, I'd totally not thought of that! We've only got one chapter left, then a project. I know who I want my partner to be!" She joked, playfully pushing his arm. He winced and drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes widened, "Oh jeez, I'm sorry, did I hurt you?"

"Nah, it's fine. Just bruised from messing around with my brother, y'know?" Great, not a day into a friendship and he's a liar already.

When the class finally started, work moved at a fast pace. Dean was surprised that he could keep up. He stumbled at times, but seeing as he'd not read the book, it was understandable. He didn't usually try this hard either. Perhaps it was what Sam had said to him yesterday. It'd probably wear off soon, once the memory of their argument wasn't so fresh.

The class was going well, until their teacher asked them to discuss the green light. Charlie grabbed what she believed to be his unbruised arm and shoved it into the air for him to answer with his point about jealousy.

"Yes, Mr Winchester, do you have something you'd like to add?"

Flustered, he decided not to answer and his behind a cocky persona, "Nah, sweetheart. Just stretchin' my arms."

"I see, carry on." The teacher moved on, but it seemed Charlie wasn't as easy to brush off.

"What the hell was that about?"

"I don't really have anything of use to add, so what's the point? I won't be here long anyway."

Charlie was irritated by him in that moment. He knew the answer, why didn't he just say it? She'd definitely work on that project with him now. She had to, it was the only way to get some of what he had to say out into the classroom. He had potential, and she'd be damned if she'd let him waste it.

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**Well, there we are. Anyone know the book? Not on I'm particularly keen on, but it was the first one that popped into my head. If it's 2014 where you are now, happy new year! I hope this one's a good one for you. Reviews are encouraged. xx**


	3. The Project

**Hello there, here's chapter three. Hope you like it.**

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After giving Sammy the last of the cereal, it was another vending machine breakfast for Dean. He'd have to make a food run after school, seeing as John wouldn't be back for a few days now. There were no cooking facilities in this particular motel, which meant their only opportunity for a hot meal came from school. Knowing how important a decent meal could be, the promise of hot food was enough to get Dean to school on time.

His time table informed him that he had the same two classes with Charlie today as he did yesterday, before he stuffed it into his back pocket. He said goodbye to Sam, following his daily "I'm not a little kid, I can get myself to class" speech, and made his way to first lesson of the day, which he spent counting down the minutes until lunch and class with Charlie.

Unfortunately, Charlie and Dean had different lunch periods that day, but he enjoyed it all the same. It was something about school food and the fact that it was the same in every school he'd been to. Equally crappy in every state. It was constant, almost...homely. He enjoyed the continuity.

Just as he'd finished his last mouthful of room temperature pudding, the bell rang. His classroom was just around the corner from the dinner hall, it took him not time at all to reach it. He'd not been in the room for more than five seconds before Charlie was talking at him.  
"So I was thinking we could do 'The Hobbit' for our project. It's a great book, I think you'll really like it. It's about these -"

"Jeez, take a breath," he joked, as she rambled, "there's no guarantee we'll be pared together, anyway." He set his bag down and sat down next to her.

"Well...I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"Meaning," he said, encouraging her to carry on.

"I may or may not have hacked the teacher's files and swapped a few of the names around."

"You hacked the school's system?"

"I said I may or may not have," she smiled mischievously.

Dean rolled his eyes as their teacher entered, then looked to Charlie, whose grin still reminded after their brief pre-class discussion.

"Good afternoon class. Now as you know, you'll be starting your projects today. I'm going to put you into pairs, and let you go to the school library to pick out your books. You may have the rest of the lesson time for research." Her voice was dull and lifeless. The words she spoke lacked enthusiasm. She was here to get paid, and that was all. Just twelve more years until retirement, and then she'd be free. She loaded the document with the list of assigned pairs, and projected it onto the board. Sure enough, Dean and Charlie's names were paired sixth on the list.

"You were serious!" He laughed and continued in a whisper, "you actually hacked her computer. How the hell -"

"I'm...gifted with computers. Anyway, c'mon."

He picked up his bag and allowed himself to be lead by her, as she pulled him by the hand in the opposite direction of their class mates.

"Where are we going?"

"We don't need the library, I've got about four different copies of 'The Hobbit'. Two of 'em are in my locker. I thought we'd go back to the cafeteria and get some pudding. No one'll notice we don't have that lunch period."

Dean liked the sound of that. In total, he'd had just three lessons. Given that he usually had four, it was a definite relief to the lazy teen. It probably helped that a Charlie had forked out and extra few cents to buy his pudding cup.

As the final bell rang, the two friends went to Charlie's locked, and she gave him a copy of the book. A well-read paperback that was more tape than paper. As he held it, the inner pages slipped for, the centre onto the ground.

"How many times have you read this?" Dean asked, picking up the pages and holding them in place, while Charlie got some tape from her locker.

"I've lost count, maybe eighteen times, give or take a couple." She took the broken copy off him and gave him another, "this ought'a stay together."

The two waved goodbye, and Dean walked to meet Sam to walk home. The market was too far away to reach on foot, so the brothers stopped off at a nearby petrol station and picked up a few cheap groceries. Mainly peanut butter and crisps, but it'd do for the time being.

Outside the small shop, at pump number six, the elder Winchester noticed a 1993 Volvo parked, with a familiar redhead in the backseat. She saw them almost as soon as she looked up, and jumped out to great them. The three chatted, while she waited for her aunt.

"Hey, why don't you come over to my place and we can get started on the book?" she suggested.

Dean looked down at Sam and back at her, "That sounds fun, but I can't really leave Sam on his own, my dad's kinda...over protective."

"Oh," she thought for a moment, "then how about I come with you? It'll be fun. I'll be right back, don't go without me." She bounded off to tell her aunt she'd be leaving with her friends.

"Sammy, we need to go," Dean ushered his brother along with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, Dean, she's right. It'll be fun. Dad's not due back for a few days, what's he gonna do about it? Please? We have the chance to do something normal." Sam's large doe eyes pleaded at him. Saying no to him would be like kicking a puppy, and Dean broke.

"Alright, fine."

They waited for a short while, and when Charlie returned, they walked the remaining ten minutes back to the motel.

"Wait, do you live here?"

"Erm, temporarily," Dean responded slowly, searching his mind for an excuse, "Dad's on the road for work, we're gonna go back home soon," Charlie looked disheartened, so Dean added, "not for ages, though. It's a big job."

It worked, she smiled again. Once inside, they emptied their pockets, managing to scrape together $11.80. With their spare money, they ordered pizza for dinner. Although she was there to read, their main priority appeared to be watching movies in the dark.

The sun had hours ago as the fourth movie came to an end. The three had migrated under the covers of the bed closed to the tv, in order to keep warm. The radiator in the room was broken, several bits of piping had gone missing, presumably stolen, so the room was icy, to say the least.

As their eyelids became heavier, a pair of headlights cut through the darkness. Curious, Dean threw of the covers and peered through the thin curtains. Through the single pain of glass in the frame, he heard the rumble of an engine. The impala. Shit.

Dean froze, unsure of what to do. If John was retuning for the night, the was no way he'd be able to hide his friend. He shouldn't even be here! He said he'd be back at the end of the week. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the door to open.

The hinges creaked as the door was pushed open. The light snapped on and Dean's eyes shot open.

"Who the hell is that," he pointed to the girl sitting beside Sam.

"A friend," Dean answered, cautiously.

"Take her home." His voice was cold and as he spoke, he threw the car keys to his eldest son.

Charlie awkwardly got up and scurried past him, not sure of what he was thinking. Dean moved forward, intent on following her, when he felt a strong hand gripping his shoulder.

"I leave for two days and you let someone in here? I don't put you up in these motels just so you can bring home some skank." His words were laced with venom.

"She's just a friend! We were studying for a project."

"You idiot, Dean. I don't have time for your excuses, take her home. I'll deal with you later." He shoved his son towards the door.

The walk to the car and much of the drive to Charlie's took place in silence, except for the odd bit of direction given in order to reach her house. Eventually, though, Charlie chose to fill the silence.

"Y'know, no offence, but your dad's a total D-bag."

"Yeah, I know." His answer was brief, as was every other response he gave her, making conversation some what limited.

When they reached her aunt's house, she waited a moment before getting out of the car.  
"You could crash here tonight, if you didn't want to go back." She couldn't be certain. But she had an inkling that what waited for Dean back at the motel wouldn't be pleasant.

"Thanks, but I can't. I have to get back."

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**Thanks for reading yet another chapter of my ramblings. I should be able to update this pretty soon. See you soon. **


	4. What a Catch, Dean

**As it turns out, more people are reading this than I thought would, which is nice. Thanks to everyone who has decided to follow this, and thanks to Cooperlouise for (hopefully intentionally) favouriting it.**

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The day after John's premature return, Dean wasn't in class, in fact he wasn't in school at all. The day seemed longer with out him, and Charlie wondered how she used to get through the remarkably boring school day without him. At lunch, she tracked Sam down, to try and find out why his brother was absent.

"Hey, Sam!" she called down the corridor, he didn't hear at first. "Sam!"

He turned and she ran to catch up with him. "What's up?"

"Where's your brother?"

Sam looked down at his feet, "he's sick." She wasn't sure if she believed him. "He came down with a fever last night, must've caught cold while taking you home. It was freezing in that room."

"Right...well, tell him I said hey." As she and Sam went their separate ways, Charlie cast her mind back to last night, remembering John's harsh words.

She ditched the last half of the school day, she knew everything they were covering in her lessons. Child's play. She was half tempted to visit Dean at the motel and check on him, but given last night's circumstances, it was best not to. Instead, Charlie went home, intent on visiting Dean tomorrow, if he wasn't in school.

Sure enough, the next day, Dean Winchester breezed into school, half way through third period.

"You're late, Mr Winchester," stated their teacher.

"Well, you're quick."

"Detention."

He brushed of the rebuke, with no intention of attending the detention. Although he walked to the back of the class, he sat on the opposite side of the room to Charlie, choosing to sit alone instead. Annoyed, she balled up a piece of scrap paper and threw it at him, while the teacher's back was writing on the board. He glanced at her quickly, but turned away. Charlie didn't try to get his attention again, and decided to the end of the end of the lesson to talk to him. When the bell rang, everyone, including the teacher shot out of the room, excluding Charlie and Dean. To prevent his departure, she ran and stood with her back against the door.

"S'the deal, Winchester?"

"Let me out, Charlie," he said, looking away from her.

"Nuh uh, not until you tell me what's up."

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, still avoiding eye contact. "Listen, erm, maybe you should find somebody else to, y'know...do your project with. Someone who can get you a decent grade." He moved his arm back down and as he did so, his shirt moved, revealing a large bruise peaking over his collar.

"What are you on about? You can get a good grade," she answered, trying not to stare at the glaring bruise.

"Look, I've not got time to work on a project, I've got other crap to be getting on with. Anyway, nothing I say will be worth anything. So can I just go, please?" He bent down to pick up his bag. His shirt lifted at the back, revealing more bruising and angry, red welts.

"Dean...I erm...where did you get those?"

He pulled his shirt back down hastily, "nothing, no, get what?"

"Those bruises, Dean, after I left, did your dad -"

"It's nothing, really. I fell."

"Let me see."

"What?"

"Let me see, Dean." She locked the classroom door and moved closer to him. Gently, she lifted the hem of his shirt, encouraging him to show her. He followed suit, and she stepped back. His skin was an ugly mixture of yellows, purples, and deep blues. Charlie covered her mouth for a moment. "Did he -"

"It's okay, Charlie."

"Your arm, you said you'd bruised it," she carefully traced near the stitches.

"That one wasn't him."

"It's my fault, if I hadn't have come over -"

He pulled his shirt back over his head, and wrapped his arms around her, "it isn't your fault. I should've been more careful. I'm an idiot."

"Do you need the hospital?"

"They'll ask questions. I'm alright, honest."

"Was this the first time?" She asked cautiously, tears welling in her eyes. Dean solemnly shook his head.

"I do a lot of stupid shit, it's nothing. Please don't tell anyone."

"But -"

"Please, Charlie. You can't tell. You have to promise."

"I promise."

"Thank you." Desperately wanting to change the subject, he moved towards the door and turned the lock, "You coming?"

"You're not an idiot Dean, whoever told you that is wrong. You're smart, I know it. Please do the project. You don't have to present it with me."

Dean nodded, wordlessly. Charlie looked at him, reading him. He was more of a closed book than anyone she'd met before, his thoughts were troubled, and he had a self-esteem to match. In retrospect, she'd rather not have known why he wasn't at school yesterday, but it was too late now, and at least he wasn't avoiding her now.

The two walked in silence to her locker, arms linked and deep in thought, until Charlie decided to try to lighten the mood.

"So, did you read any of the book yesterday?"

"Some," he replied. He hadn't had much time, having been ordered to help his father with the case. He'd stayed up later than usual, once Sam was asleep, and had read a good amount. "I like Fili, I think he's my favourite. He looks out for his brother, protects him, y'know. I like all of the dwarves, they're fighting to get home."

"Cool...I'm more of a Gandalf girl, myself."

Silence followed, once again, allowing the two friends to return to their thoughts. Although he doubted himself earlier, Dean genuinely seemed alright. Charlie couldn't help but feel guilty. Her new knowledge of Dean troubled her. She'd never beven in this situation before, it was difficult to know what to do.

Despite his brave face and the smile he was currently wearing, Dean felt like crap. Everything hurt. His back was so bruised, it hurt to even lean against the back of his chair. His muscles were on fire from a prolonged period of being at odd angles, while trying to protect himself. In truth, he wanted to go home, but he didn't have one. There was Sam, home is where your heart is, and all, but he didn't have a bed of his own. The only bed he'd ever owned was ashes. It was easier to hide it all, and keep it all inside, rather than actually talk about it. He wasn't weak, and he didn't need Charlie to think otherwise, but she knew now, she'd forced it out of him. He'd have to be more careful. He'd do the project, to prove her right, to prove Sam right and ultimately, to prove himself wrong.

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**As always, thank you taking the time to read this. I sincerely hope you liked it and that you have/have had a nice day today. **


	5. Resident Poltergeist

**Hey guys. Thanks everyone for your lovely reviews, to everyone who's following this, and to Superchiwo and Tendershippinglife for adding this to you favourites. Here's chapter five.**

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After the first instance of truancy, Dean's absences became more frequent, and each and every day he missed, Charlie worried. Sometimes, after hours of wondering if he was alright, she'd take her bike and ride to the motel, where she'd peak through the window and check on him. Most of the time, he was fine. Other times, he'd be tending to a new wound. Charlie understood many things, computers, mathematics, but what she didn't understand was Dean Winchester. She hated not knowing.

The first day back after the weekend was Dean's first day back at school in about a week. Yet again, Charlie pulled him aside and questioned him and he fed her lies about where he'd been. He was tired of lying to her, each excuse became tougher to get out, as if the words were stuck in his throat. Not all of what he told her wasn't all a lie, though, he was truthful about the pain it he felt. He just lied about the bigger things, like the fact that his dad wasn't responsible for every bruise Charlie saw. Sure, he'd got angry and knocked him around a bit when he found Charlie in the motel, and a few...quite a few times before that when he'd been drunk, but that only accounted for about twenty percent. The rest of the marks were from hunting, like the cuts on his arm, most of his wounds were from fighting various creatures, but though he felt as if he could tell her anything, he couldn't tell a civilian like her about the supernatural, could he? The two were stuck in a battle of wills. Charlie was dying to know the truth about her friend, and in turn, he refused to tell her. Neither of them showed any signs of backing down.

Although Dean had finished the book, he and Charlie were behind on their project. It was due in two weeks, but their presentation consisted of little more than a title, and their names. A quick phone call to John, asking permission to join Charlie at her house, and work could begin. Of course, he had to bring Sam, but Charlie's had cable tv, so it's not like he'd be in the way.

Upstairs, Dean sat in Charlie's room, while she fetched drinks and whatever food was in the cupboards in her kitchen. As he waited, he caught sight of a radio, which called to him, promising some decent music. His friend returned moments later to him fiddling with the dial on the radio, having changed the station to one that played classic rock.

She set the drinks down and dropped the two packets of crisps she'd been carrying between her teeth. "Dude, you know they play songs from this decade, right?"

"What, this is a classic!" he responded, tapping out the drum beat on the chest of draws next to him.

"This is older than I am, here, if we put it back to the station I had it on," she readjusted the dial and paused for a moment to determine the song playing and hummed along.

"Ahh, c'mon, this is chick music."

"Better than your dinosaur tunes. Leave the station and come help me write up this presentation. What do you think about starting with a summary, then moving onto the development of Bilbo Baggins?" she suggested.

"I guess," he shoved he chair, so he could join her at her desk, "scoot over." It was a new sensation for Dean, someone asking for his opinion on school work, as if it was valuable.

The sun set, and hours ticked into one another. Their presentation was coming along well, until their work was interrupted by the sound of rumbling stomachs.

"Food?" Charlie suggested.

"Food," he confirmed, getting up and following her downstairs. He called Sam to join them for dinner.

Downstairs, Charlie's aunt had prepared something for them, and had left it on the kitchen counter before she went out with friends. While it was heating up, the three chatted. It was a strange feeling, sitting at a dining table at a friend's house, eating non-microwaved un-packaged food. Dean could almost understand why Sam liked this 'normal' thing so much. In fact, they almost felt like regular kids, that is until the light flickered.

At first, they thought nothing of it, so the light flickered, lights flickered all the time. It didn't mean anything was wrong, right? They continued their conversation over pasta. Yet again, they were interrupted by a sound. A scratching sound, deep inside the walls. Dean cast his eyes over to Sam, who was looking back at him.

"Hey Charlie, how long has your light been doing that?"

She thought for a moment, "I dunno, a while, why?"

"And the scratching in the walls?"

"Again, a while, why d'you wanna know?"

"This is gonna sound crazy," Sam began, "but we need to leave."

"Right now? I thought you were staying the night."

"Not just me and Dean, all of us," he tried to convince her and reached for the salt at the centre of the table, but just as his hand touched it, it shot away from him and fell to the floor. All around them, furniture began to rise up of the ground and crockery from the cupboards started to hurl itself at the young hunters.

"What's happening!"

"We need to get out of here, now!" Dean grabbed the sleeve of her hoodie, and dragged her towards the back door, leaving Sam to grab the salt shaker, before hastily following them.

"What's going on?" She was on the verge of freaking out as they ran.

"There's a poltergeist in there, alright? Now me 'n' Sam know how to kill it, but we need you're help," he gripped he arms and looked at her.

"Poltergeist?"

"Focus. Charlie. We need your help."

"I can't help! Until five minutes ago, I didn't know any of this stuff was real!"

"Do you know anyone who's died recently?"

"No! I mean, my dad, but that was over a year ago! But that can't be him in there."

"Your dad? Where's he buried."

"He was cremated."

"Okay...erm, did he give you anything? A necklace, or something?" Dean was wracking his brain, trying to come up with a solution. On the fly, it wasn't easy.

"Just books, but why does that matter? Are you saying he's in there?"

"It makes sense, he could have attached himself to one of the book," Sam suggested.

"But if it's my dad...why can't we just-"

"Sammy, we need to find that book," he turned back to Charlie, "he has to go, Charlie. The longer he stays, the more angry he'll. He's already angry enough to move objects, he's not your dad anymore."

"He never got angry, it can't be him," tears spilled and rolled down her cheeks.

"I'll explain everything later, just trust me. C'mon!" He ran back up the garden and towards the door.

"Dean, wait! We can't go that way! He's in there!" Sam warned. The furniture still flying in the kitchen.

"Alright then, smart ass, how do we get to the books?"

Charlie sniffed and wiped her eyes, "Up there, we can climb the tree." She pointed to the open window of her bedroom.

"Right," Dean moved quickly over to the tree, "Sammy, you first." He locked his fingers together, making a foothold, to boost his brother up onto the lowest branch, before reaching to climb up himself.

"Wait!" Charlie called from below him, "I should come with you."

"It's dangerous, you need to get away from here."

"You don't know which books to look for. I can handle it, I promise."

"Alright, fine, come on," Dean stretched his arm out to her, she grabbed on and he pulled her up. As they tiptoed across the branch, Charlie began singing to herself quietly. Dean threw he a look that asked 'what the hell?'

She read the look and responded, "nervous habit, don't judge me," and the singing continued.

Once in her room, they darted at the bookshelf, where Sam stood waiting.

"His books are on the third shelf, right hand side," she gestured. Eight books sat on the right half of the shelf and were at Sam's eye level.

"He probably left some kind of DNA in one of these: a hair, a nail, maybe."

"He got a pretty gnarly paper cut while reading 'The Magician's Nephew.' Got blood on a few of the pages, would that work?" The adrenaline helped her think more clearly.

"Sammy?"

"Got it," he confirmed, promptly throwing it into the metal bin in the corner of her room.

Dean picked up the bin and removed the salt shaker from Sam's shirt pocket. He quickly drew a circle on the carpet. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, stay inside the circle," he told Charlie. He spoke with a sense of urgency that informed her people in the past hadn't listened to that instruction, and he'd lost them.

She dared not move, fearing what would happen it she stepped over the salty they stood in the circle, Dean held a lit book of matches over the small bin. Charlie had shouted at him, begged him not to drop them and set fire to her beloved book. She wasn't ready to let it go, she could still feel the warmth of his touch within the pages, and hear his voice in her head as she read over the words. Dean dropped them anyway. As the book burned, her father appeared before them, reaching out to her.

"I love you," she said, a tear rolled down her cheek, following the bitter path of its predecessors, "I'm so sorry."

Flames wrapped around him, and his spirit began to disintegrate. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she couldn't see it, it wasn't real, but such hopes were for children. She felt a hand slip into hers as she cried. Though her friend's fingers calloused, they felt soothing on her skin, and she welcomed the comfort of her friend's touch.

When it was over, she opened her eyes, looked down at the ashes, and back up at Sam and Dean, still crying, she asked, "who are you guys?"

Of course she knew their names, she knew their personalities, but that's all she knew, and in her opinion, it was time to know more.

Dean sat down and patted the space beside him, encouraging him to join her. When she sat beside him, she rested her head on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around her and they sat in silence until her tears subsided.

"What I'm about to tell you isn't going to make much sense, but-"

"After what I've just seen, anything makes sense, Dean."

"Okay. Me and Sam, and our dad are hunters. See, monsters and ghosts, that stuff's real...and we kill 'em."

"For serious? So witches, and werewolves, and stuff, they exist?"

"'Fraid so. They're violent sons of bitches, too," he rolled up his sleeve, "these marks on my arm, got on the wrong end of a werewolf in Nebraska."

"So your dad didn't-"

"Nah."

"And everything else, he didn't do that either?"

"Not all if it, a little, but definitely not all."

"Oh," she didn't sound completely satisfied. Although John wasn't the monster she'd first thought, she understood that he still hit his eldest son.

"You're handling this well, better than most adults I know," he complimented.

"I guess all the D&D helped prepared me. I think I always suspected stuff like that exisisted," she laughed nervously.

From there, Dean explained everything, where they came from, where they were going, why they did what they did, how spirits became monsters. He'd never been able to open up like this before. Sam didn't understand, as much as he tried to, he was too young to remember losing their mum. Charlie, however, had experienced the same loss, she understood the longing for someone who wasn't there. It was as if a weight had been lifted of his shoulders, he felt like he could breath again, it gave him a sense of freedom.

"Maybe if we explained to your dad about the haunting, you'd be able to come here more often, and I'd be able could visit you?"

"Maybe. He's pretty protective with this kinda thing."

She paused, "I can't believe he just leaves you guys on your own. Where is he now?"

"He was tracking this thing called a Lamia, that's what brought us here, but now he's working a job a few towns over, something about a vampire nest."

"Vampire? Like 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' vampires? With the fangs and the blood?" Charlie asked, and so began another long discussion.

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**As always, thanks for reading. I hope this chapter was okay and that you enjoyed reading it. Updates might be a little slower soon, because I go back to school next week, but I should be able to update at least once a week.**


	6. There and Back Again

**Hello. Just a few things before this chapter:**  
**1) Sorry this took so long. Kind of annoyed with myself for updating everyday and then leaving it for two weeks, but I have my reasons. I've been back at school, and I have umpteen books to read for my Literature class and coursework to write. It was my parents' anniversary last weekend, and I didn't have chance to write, but I managed to get my arse in gear and get this written. **  
**2) This is the penultimate chapter of this fic, the next one will be a sort of epilogue and will be linked to the title. I'll upload another fic soon. **  
**3) Way more people have read this than I thought would, so thanks!**  
**4) I should probably chuck in a disclaimer since I always forget to:**  
**I do not own any recognisable characters, novels, or other works including, but not limited to: Supernatural, The Hobbit, The Magician's Nephew, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (referenced in earlier chapter), and the characters involved in these works.**

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"Damn it, Dean. It was reckless to take Sam in there with you! Not to mention the civilian."

"But dad, I didn't get hurt, none of us did. Dean's been going on hunts since he was younger than I am!" Sam protested from the back seat.

He sighed, "you're right, I just worry...you boys did a good job."

"And Charlie's really been cool about it, dad."

"Charlie?"

"My friend, I brought her back to the motel room, remember?"

They hadn't even meant to tell John, it just sort of slipped out while Sam was eating breakfast. He seemed a little angry at first, for going against a poltergeist alone and all, but he seemed to calm down as they went into detail and explained everything. He was taking them to school that day, before he left to finish the job he was working. The Impala came to a halt and his sons hopped out, his eldest walking straight over to the red head he recognised from the motel.

"Have you told anyone?" Dean asked, after greeting his friend.

"About my dad? Nah, I'm not stupid, Dean," replied Charlie. "C'mon," she continued, linking her arm with his, "we're gonna be late."

"See ya, Sammy." They waved and went their separate ways.

They were late, as Charlie had predicted, but that somehow that first lesson seemed to be longer than any other class they'd every had together. Their class had been saddled with a substitute teacher, who hadn't heard of a shower and was most likely, qualified to do little more than tie his shoes. It ended, eventually, and the two friends were grateful they had a free period, which they decided to spend finishing their project. It didn't take long, they just needed to type up what Dean had written in his note books. Charlie complained while trying to read it, his writing was chicken scratch. After listening to Charlie moan about it for god knows how long, Dean insisted they switch, he read and Charlie typed until it was finished.

Final slide typed, Charlie sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest smugly. She smiled to herself, knowing she'd that most of the ideas used were Dean's. They had agreed to do eight slides each, and then include the best six from both sets, but unbeknownst to Dean, she'd ignored that and used all of his anyway. Despite doing the project to prove to himself and Sam that he could do it, he was still convinced that he had nothing worth saying, and Charlie was going out of her way to prove him otherwise.

"So, there it is. One whole project," she proudly offered a high five.

Dean acknowledged it. "First one I've actually finished," he laughed boisterously. "Thanks, Charlie, really. You really kicked my ass into gear on this," speaking more calmly.

"Whatever. You can always count on me to kick your butt." She winked and leaned over to give him a tight hug, then logged off the computer.

"Well thank you," he reverted back to sarcasm, playfully pushing her.

As they left the library, Dean walked with his head held a little higher. The weight he carried felt absent from his shoulders. Possibilities ran through his head. If one person outside Sam valued his opinion, maybe others would, too. Perhaps, if he worked hard, hunting wouldn't be his only option. He didn't know what he'd do, though. Fireman? Mechanic? Cars we like puzzles, he liked that.

He felt something pinch his arm. It was Charlie, pulling him out of his thoughts.  
"Earth to Dean! Jeez, it's like talking to a brick wall. I said I'll see you at lunch."

"Oh...right, yeah. See ya later."

She rolled her eyes and walked the opposite way to Dean, towards the maths classrooms. They had this next lesson and then lunch, before their English class, and Charlie hoped that Dean would stick to the plan and read over his notes in these next hours.

The cafeteria had pie that day, and Dean, being Dean, bought himself two slices. One for lunch, and one for dessert. If Charlie had let him, he'd have eaten her's, too. He stuck to the plan, reading over and over his notes while cramming cherry pie into his mouth.

"So, we're talking about the songs," he said through a mouthful of pastry, "and then..."

"Dean, we've been over this! I though you knew -"

"Alright, alright, I know what to say, just not the order. I'll just look at the slide before I speak."

"I'll believe you, thousands wouldn't, Winchester. Anyway, let's get going, I wanna get set up so we can get everything done in time." She pulled him up by his sleeve, and dragged him away from the table, but not before he managed to grab the remaining dessert.

They walked through the corridors, Dean licking cherry pie filling off his fingers as they made their way to class. It was a particularly busy lunch period, and the halls were filled with children, shoving each other and running into things. There was nothing more irritating. The two forced their way through the masses, breaking through a rather dense wall of ninth graders to get into the classroom.

"I get that it's a school and everything, but this place'd be a lot better without all those damn kids."

"I know, right?" Charlie agreed, "I swear there're more every day." She busied herself at the computer on the teacher's desk, while Dean linked up the projector. They had time for a quick run through before the bell rang and the class members flooded in.

Dean was surprised he didn't have a knot in his stomach, his nerves went unfelt. He got to know the book inside and out over the past month of being at the school. He'd got his cue cards, and the run through went fine. He had this in the bag.

"Right then," their teacher announced, upon entering the room in an oddly good mood ('must be payday' Dean thought), "presentations. Who have we got today?"

"Me 'n' Dean," Charlie waved from the front.

"Yes, of course. Go ahead."

Charlie was up first. She stood openly, her thumbs sticking out casually from her back pockets. "So, we've chosen to do our project on 'The Hobbit' by J. R. R. Tolkien. It's a personal favourite of mine, and I think Dean's, too."

The presentation progressed, and they smoothly moved from one slide to the next, dissecting every angle of the story. Dean stepped forward, ready to take his next turn.

"Bilbo goes through a load of character development in the book. Y'know, he starts off as this little guy who has no interest for adventure, and -"

There was a knock at the door. A narrow, dead eyed woman stood in the doorway and stared into the room. "Is Dean Winchester in this class?"

The teacher gestured to where he stood, "he's here."

"Your father's here to pick you up," she informed him monotonously.

"Now?"

"He insists."

He solemnly picked up his bag, which had been resting against the wall, and noticed his brother standing behind the receptionist. Just as he was about to leave, he dropped his bag back down, and turned around.

"Hang on a sec."

He retook his place at the front of the room, thinking back to what Sam had said all those weeks ago, he needed to stop mindlessly following orders...at least once, anyway. "Bilbo started off as this little guy who had no interest in adventure, and by the end he's evolved into this pretty cool hero," he finished the presentation with Charlie, as he'd promised.

The presentation had taken a further twenty minutes to complete, and his dad would be pissed, but that was future Dean's problem. He could always say the receptionist took ages to find him.

Outside the classroom, he pulled Charlie towards him, rapped his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. He let go of her and kissed her again, on the cheek this time.

Bag in hand, he threw an arm over Sam's shoulder. "C'mon, Sammy," he urged as they began to leave.

"Hey," a voice called from behind them, "see ya later, bitches," Charlie called from the doorway, wearing a brave face. She was smiling when he looked back at her, and he desperately wanted to ignore the fact that the smile never reached her eyes.

The Impala was waiting outside impatiently in the car park. Dean slid quietly into the backseat beside Sam and waited quietly for their father to speak.

"You took your sweet time. What the hell took so long?"

"The receptionist only just fetched me," Dean began, setting up the lie.

"I sent her to find you over almost half an hour ago," he replied, irritated.

"There must've been a mix up or somethin', she probably couldn't find the room I was in." He was thankful for his decision to prepare a lie in advance.

"Ridiculous, you'd think they'd have their shit together." John turned the key in the ignition. "I'll tell y'what, I'm sure as hell glad to be gettin' out of this place."

"Yeah..." Dean replied slowly, staring up at the classroom window, and catching a glimpse of red hair, "me too."

Charlie spent the school day in silence for the most part after Dean left. She'd miss her friend and his brother. Being a good deal younger than everyone else in her grade, she was used to being alone, but having someone around for a while was a welcomed change. She was quiet she got home, too, and spent much of the evening upstairs in her room, reading 'The Hobbit' from the random page she'd flipped to, until her aunt called her to dinner, and she made her way to the dining room.

As she rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, she heard the sound of paper being crammed through the letterbox in the front door.

"Bit late for the mailman," she thought aloud, curiously walking over to retrieve the delivery. On the welcome mat was a crumpled envelope, which she picked up and turned over. On the other side, written in a familiar chicken scratch font, was her name scrawled onto a clean white background. Recognising the writing immediately, she undid the bolt on the door and flung it open, running out into the street in her bare feet to look for her friend. She could have sworn she'd seen him disappear into the twilight.

Charlie would not see him again for a very long time.

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**As always, thank you for reading. Reviews are welcomed, as are recommended improvements. Again, this took so long.**


	7. The Letter

**Well, here we are. The last chapter. It's only little and just her to bring it to a close. I hope you like it, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this.**

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Charlie couldn't remember eating a meal so fast in her life. She wolfed it down, spoonful after giant spoonful, and left the table. She took the stairs two and three at a time, and ran for her room, shut the door behind her. Sitting on her bed, she pulled the envelope out of her pocket and opened it.

_Charlie,_

_Hell, I don't even know if you'll get this letter at all, I guess it depends on whether I can get my dad to let me drop it off before we leave. Anyway, here goes._

_If you're reading this, I'm long gone. Probably out of the state. I'm sorry for leaving so quickly. I'm not great at this writing thing, so bare with me. _

_You were the first true friend I've ever really had. You're my best friend. I've moved around so much, I've never had the time to make a friend like you. You pushed me to work hard and helped me realise that maybe I could do this school stuff. I'm thinking of asking about college. After Sam can look after himself and all. I dunno, it's a long shot._

_ There's this guy I stay with sometimes, Bobby Singer. I figure we could write each other, if you wanna. I could write from wherever I am, and you could send your replies to Singer Salvage, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. _

_Dean_

She read it over a few times, once out loud, twice in her head. It was short, sweet and to the point. She pinned to her notice board and picked up a pen. There were a million things running through her mind. The 'A' on their project, books he could read on the road, she touched the pen to a blank leaf of paper.

_Dean..._

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**Thanks for reading! **


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